


One More Chance

by EmAndFandems



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Prompt Fill, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems
Summary: Aziraphale’s face falls. So, it seems, did the souffle.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 56
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #06 "I Had No Idea That Would Happen!"





	One More Chance

**Author's Note:**

> CW for food preparation.  
> Title from Queen's "Under Pressure." Spot the cameo! Posting date edited to after reveals.

Aziraphale wields a spatula like no one else. Crowley watches him fold the egg whites into the rest of the batter with an intense look of concentration and cannot resist giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you,” says Aziraphale automatically, and then frowns. “Only must you interrupt, dear? I’m undertaking a rather delicate procedure.”

“Mm, by all means, don’t let me stop you.” Crowley settles into a seat at the table, chin in hands, content to observe. The pinch of Aziraphale’s forehead, the steadiness of his hands, the way the sun coming through the kitchen window sets his hair aglow: it’s all Crowley can do to think,  _ Beautiful, _ and hope it doesn’t slip out. Embarrassing, really. Wouldn’t be the first time, either.

Aziraphale lifts his bowl to pour the contents into a pan and slide that into the preheated oven, and then he turns to Crowley. “How shall we fill the next 20 minutes?”

He’s already drawing close, stepping between Crowley’s legs so his knees frame Aziraphale’s, and laying gentle hands on black sleeves which will remain miraculously clean of flour. Crowley smiles up at him.

“Don’t be mad,” he says, and Aziraphale huffs at the suggestion of such a possibility, so he goes on. “I have another idea.”

“Better than kissing me?” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “This had better be some idea.”

Crowley pulls out his phone and taps at it until it begins playing music. After a quick debate over the word  _ bebop _ and its applications, Aziraphale submits to being serenaded by one lovestruck demon who can’t quite hit the higher notes— but who’ll be damned again if he doesn’t intend to try. The room is filled with laughter and lyrics, applause and appalling attempts at dancing. And then Aziraphale consults the time and gasps.

“Oh! It must be done by now!”

_ People on street—  _ Crowley pauses it. “Right at the good part,” he gripes, only so Aziraphale can poke him for being silly.

“You can finish your song after fetching me the oven mitts, Crowley. A souffle is a very finicky thing and it cannot be left waiting.”

The pan is retrieved and Aziraphale’s face falls. So, it seems, did the souffle.

“What went wrong?” demands Crowley. He glares at the oven. How dare it!

“I’m sure I don’t know! Ask your internet.” Aziraphale crosses his arms and frowns at the dish.

“It’s not— Yeah, okay.” A quick search results in a stab of guilt. “Erm. Says here it might’ve been because of, um. Loud noises.”

“Crowley!”

“Sorry, I-I had no idea that would happen!”

“No, I know.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “Alright, then. We’ll simply try again.”

Crowley tips his head. “Angel?”

“Yes?”

“D’you think your original idea would’ve been… quieter?”

It proves to be so. The second souffle is a great success. Aziraphale is pleased about it for weeks. If Crowley weren’t so dreadfully, all-consumingly infatuated with that look, he’d call it smug.

Impromptu karaoke is banished to less sensitive baking sessions.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, souffles do not actually fall because of loud noises in the area; it's simply a question of the heat of the oven versus the rapidly cooling air. The second souffle's survival, therefore, is owed more to Aziraphale's expectation that it would survive than to any quality of the kitchen's soundscape. Neither of them will complain overmuch, when this fact is discovered upon further research, about the way things turned out.


End file.
